


Frontier

by yeaka



Category: Star Trek, Star Trek: The Original Series
Genre: Established Relationship, M/M, Vignette
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-07-20
Updated: 2018-07-20
Packaged: 2019-06-13 14:42:06
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 742
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15366876
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/yeaka/pseuds/yeaka
Summary: Just a shore-leave morning.





	Frontier

**Author's Note:**

> A/N: Fill for Gimmemorespirk’s “Kirk/Spock [kiss on a scar]” request on [my tumblr prompt list](http://yeaka.tumblr.com/post/176075204220/prompt-list).
> 
> Disclaimer: I don’t own Star Trek or any of its contents, and I’m not making any money off this.

Their cottage in the woods is quaint and comfortable, every bit as peaceful at it seemed when they were building it—lugging synthesized logs along laser-point instructions with a couple of red shirts in the cabin down the way. The valley itself is sweet and beautiful—Jim wakes to the rich aroma of cinnamon-pine that permeates the air, and he brushes his teeth with an old-fashioned brush while the ground-ridden gulls hum outside his window. It could _almost_ be a place on Earth, a slice of centuries past, but Jim enjoys that little exotic twist whenever anything’s not _quite_ the way it should be. He took the R &R the Federation made him, but not on another cramped, familiar station with more grey than green.

They weren’t exactly excited about his pick—a small, backwater planet previously unexplored—but Jim has a way of getting what he wants out of the brass. A couple of red shirts to appease them, his first officer to ‘keep him in check,’ and he’s got that little patch of paradise that a part of his soul’s always longing for.

What really completes the fantasies comes when he reaches the kitchen, where his t’hy’la’s back is turned to him, busily working at the counter. A bowl of fruit is sitting on Spock’s right, the unpeeled variety balanced on a cutting board to his left, and Spock’s carefully slicing the local equivalent of an apple between them. Spock doesn’t acknowledge Jim’s entrance, but he doesn’t need to—Jim knows that Spock’s aware of him. Spock always is. 

On the final slice, the fruit collapses neatly in Spock’s grip, and he catches it, cradling the tiny pieces in both hands. The shift in the knife-hand brings his scar back into view, and Spock pauses for a fraction of a second, while the bright sun washes over its pale curves. Then Spock is back in motion as though nothing ever happened.

Jim knows him better than that. Jim pads across the kitchen, down to socks, jeans, and a flannel shirt, unlike Spock’s crisp Vulcan attire. Jim comes up behind him, flattening into his ironed V-neck sweater, and wraps one arm lightly around his waist. The other catches Spock’s hand after it’s dumped the slices, setting down the cutting knife and cradling it in his own. His thumb runs along the faint scar between Spock’s palm and forefinger, the texture just a little off. Spock restrains a shiver at the touch, but Jim still feels it. 

Jim reminds him, “Bones’ll be able to fix this right up when the Enterprise returns in another week.” There won’t be anything left behind. Jim regrets that—regrets that Spock didn’t have the proper medical care when he needed it, only crude emergency supplies and Jim’s loving but inexperienced attention. If the Enterprise was still in range, Jim would’ve called them back immediately.

But they weren’t, and he couldn’t, and Spock assured him it was alright. Spock’s injuries weren’t particularly deep, and he was the only one to have any. 

From an aesthetic point of view, Spock notes, “It is unfortunate that it occurred in such a conspicuous place.” Any recipient of the Vulcan salute will see it.

There’s nothing wrong with the scar and there are no Vulcans on the planet. Jim says, “Good: it’s your badge of honour.”

Spock tilts his face towards Jim, but Jim doesn’t need to see the lifted brow to know it’s happening. Jim explains, “In the old days on Earth, a scar like that, earned protecting your partner from the local wildlife, would be considered a trophy.”

Spock dryly counters, “The more intelligent course would be to not spend designated rest periods in unexplored areas with such wildlife, and to have dermal regenerators available.”

Jim can’t argue that one. With no better point to make, he slips his hand deftly around Spock’s, reaching Spock’s knuckles and flattening his palm against it, then interlocking their fingers. He draws Spock’s hand up over Spock’s shoulder, and he brushes his lips over the scar, kissing it with enough tender affection to feel the subtle spark that rolls through Spock’s whole body. Spock’s breath hitches, and Jim finishes the kiss to murmur against Spock’s skin, “Noted, Commander. I’ll never be so reckless again.”

It’s telling that Spock waits a short moment before answering, “I highly doubt that, Captain.”

But he accepts the next kiss to his cheek and resumes making them breakfast.


End file.
